


The Service of His Love

by eireverde



Category: Inception (2010), James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF Q, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eireverde/pseuds/eireverde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, Q-before-he-was-Q ran into some old enemies of Bond.  Now they're back.  This time, are Bond and Q (along with Arthur, Eames, Ariadne, and Moneypenny) enough to stop them?  All this and the trouble of falling for each other...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You learn to love the things you’ve got

His mobile rang out in the crowded hubbub of the pub, the sombre tones of ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’ barely audible over the noise of the Friday after-work crush.

“This is Q. You’ve reached me on my off day, and as I’m thoroughly sloshed at the moment—"

“Q! Listen, this is Moneypenny. There’s been a change of plans and we need you back at Six. One of the agents just back from China brought us intelligence that there’s going to be another attack—“

When an elbow forcefully jostled his side, Q was abruptly forced to stop listening to the conversation. He heard a voice beside him shouting over the din, “Jamie, eight shady fucks just walked in and Arthur’s turned into Nervous Nellie. You’ll need to get off the phone with your sweetheart there.”

Cursing fluidly, Q nodded and moved to wrap up his conversation with Eve. He spoke urgently into his mobile, “Moneypenny, I’ll be there as soon as I’m able. There’ll be a delay,” and put his phone in his pocket without listening for her response.

The adrenaline was having a considerable sobering effect and as a result he was feeling less drunk now than he had been two minutes ago. Q made sure his highly customized handgun was handy ( _handy handgun, haha_ , he mused a bit desperately) and started looking for his drinking mates.

Eames had moved quickly from his side once the message had been delivered and was now standing with Arthur in the dark corner by the men’s loo. Ariadne was also making her way there, and Q moved to join them.

Once they had all reached him, Arthur started his brusque explanation. “Eight armed men walked in a few minutes ago and began circling the perimeter of the bar. They’re looking for something and I’d rather it not be us. Eames checked out the back door on his way to alert Jamie and found it blocked by a sniper. I just checked the front and it’s also blocked by snipers. So, we can’t get out and it’s a matter of time before they start shooting. What have you got in the way of weapons?”

Eames was the first to respond. “I don’t bring my full kit to the pub, darling. I’ve got a H&K P2000 with extra bullets and an F-S fighting knife. You’d better hope Jamie here is taking up the slack.”

Ignoring (in the interest of expediency) the disgusted look Arthur was shooting at Eames, Q quickly answered, “I’ve a Glock 17, an H&K USP, and a KA-BAR. That’s in addition to some wire suitable for garrotting, a few electronics designed to electrocute, and the like.”

His frown slightly less severe, Arthur nodded and turned to Ari.

She said quietly, “I’m carrying a Ruger. I think it’s an SR9, maybe an SR9C? It holds 17 rounds. No knife, no other guns.” The men nodded in response but each opted against teasing. Ari was still new to their world, even three years on.

Arthur gave them all a minute and then nodded decisively. “All right, here’s the plan. Eames and I will go to the front entrance and attempt to distract the snipers there—”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off the loud noise of handguns being shot at close range and people screaming in response.

The group quickly scattered, Arthur and Eames diving for one corner and Ari and Q the other.

From his spot on the floor, Q carefully looked up. The shooters seemed to be aiming at random, which made no sense at all. _Why go to all the effort of acquiring—or smuggling—guns into Britain, a right pain in the arse, only to walk into a random pub off the street and start firing at bystanders? That was a lot of effort for little reward._

Most of the pub goers were office workers, stopping by for a round with their mates before braving the Tube or the M25 to go home for the weekend. They were screaming, panicking, and otherwise presenting no challenge at all to the gunmen.

Frowning, Q glanced over at Eames and Arthur. Arthur felt his glance and looked over with a grim look on his face, then nodded resolutely as he reached a decision. He tapped Eames on the shoulder and smoothly moved upwards into a crouch while Eames let off some cover fire.

Ari piped up, “Want to do the same? I can cover you.”

Q grimaced. No doubt MI6 would have kittens at the thought, but he didn’t see much choice in the matter. Their group was the most dangerous thing in the pub besides the gunmen.

“Want might be putting too fine a point on it, but yes, let’s. Count of three?” he replied.

Ari nodded, a determined expression on her face. After a quick countdown, they got to it.

The man once known as Jamie, now Q, had forgotten how _fun_ firing a gun could be. This was something he’d trained for, something he had once been good at, and while training and competence certainly helped to make it fun, protecting the innocent was also a great excuse for mayhem.

The gunmen had quickly honed in on their group as the only point of opposition in the pub. Gunfire was being exchanged rather recklessly, with the civilians trapped in the middle.

Q felt himself grin ferally when he managed a headshot that took down one of the shooters. He refrained from crowing his delight but knew the others could read it on his face. With a grunt, Eames dispatched another gunman. Arthur responded by taking out two others in rapid succession. Then they all ducked as the remaining four shooters regrouped and started aiming more determinedly at their group.

Arthur called out, “Split up. We’re too large a target. Ari, you and Jamie go to the back stairs while Eames and I head for the front.”

 _Take the man out of the military, but you’ll never take the military out of the man_ , Q thought in amusement. _Then again, there’s Eames. Or is he the exception that proves the rule, as the Americans say?_

With a start, Q came back to himself as Ari pulled his arm and started dragging him to the back of the pub. He’d forgotten that here he wasn’t safe at MI6 behind his screens and wires.

Arthur and Eames were dispatching two of the remaining four shooters with their usual teamwork while Ari and Q crawled to the back of the pub, carefully keeping the gunmen in sight as they did so.

One of the shooters had followed them to the back area and Q speedily moved from a hunched crawl to a kneeling crouch and took him out with another headshot, this one messier than the last.

The sound of disgust Ari made was audible over the startled screaming of the civilians. “Headshots are so messy. _Must_ you insist on them?” she griped.

“Messy, harder to make, more prone to going wide—but guaranteed. You’d prefer headshots too if you’d seen as many dead blokes rise up for ‘one more shot’ as I have,” Q responded cheerfully.

While they’d argued, Arthur had killed the last gunman. Q and Ari rose up from the ground, each grimacing as they wiped the muck of the pub floor off their clothes. They then walked to the front where Arthur and Eames waited.

“None of this makes any sense. Eight men, armed but apparently not with common sense, walk into a pub and start shooting. They don’t seem to know who they’re looking for or what they’re doing, and serve mainly as cannon fodder. What was the point of this?” Ari asked.

As Q took in a breath to respond, he noticed in his peripheral vision a red light blinking by the front door. He caught his breath and hurtled himself gracelessly toward it, hoping that he was mistaken.

He was not.

The timer showed four and a half minutes remaining, not long enough to disarm it. The device looked complicated, with a plethora of wires and not one but two smaller timers attached to it. Though Q knew that a complicated bomb could actually be easier to disarm than the fiendishly simple ones, this bomb actually looked professionally done.

“Arthur! We need to get the civilians out of here. _Now_ , ” he yelled out in his best Quartermaster voice.

With a raised eyebrow, Arthur looked over. His eyes widened and comprehension rapidly crossed his face. Eames and Ari were equally quick to catch on.

Eames was the one who speedily came up with a plan, “You and Ari take the back stairs up. Like we did in Addis Ababa. We’ll get the civilians past the snipers and join you.”

As he and Ari sprinted past panicking office workers to the back hallway that the pub shared with the other businesses on this level, Q felt a cold grimness settle over him.

Shooting people always stirred his blood and running for his life always froze it. Just now, his blood was ice cold.

Q thanked Arthur’s paranoia for insisting, as always, that everyone in the group know the stairwells, exits, and entrances of the building they were in. This wasn’t the first time in which that paranoia had come in handy. They were running up the main stairwell and headed up to the third storey, tearing toward the fifth storey roof, before Ari even had a chance to question the plan Eames had put together on the fly.

“Wait, wait. Arthur and Eames are going out the front door with everyone else, right? So why aren’t we joining them and slipping out amidst the chaos? Surely no one would notice us among fifty other people?” she asked.

“Actually they’re encouraging everyone to leave the pub as best they can and then they’re joining us up here on the roof. As for why, when someone has clearly put together a plan where they expect you to do one action and they have also managed to put a fair number of muscle and guns into backing you into that action, it’s not wise to follow the plan. So, Addis Ababa,” Q said.

They finally made it to the door out to the roof, which was of course locked. Q promptly drew his phone out of his pocket and started his lock-picking app while thinking absentmindedly that he clearly should have kept up his physical lock-picking skills. They would have come in quite handy just now.

“What exactly—and I’m not sure whether I even want to ask this one—is the Addis Ababa plan?” Ari questioned in exasperation. She hated to be left out.

Distracted by the opening of the lock, Q sighed a bit louder than he meant to. _I know you’re unhappy that you’re always a step behind us, but we’ve known each for years, Ari. Everyone else in dreamshare needs the plan explained, too._

He’d also hoped they would reach the roof before Ari asked for all the details of the plan.

There was perhaps thirty seconds remaining before the bomb exploded. It was going to be hard enough to persuade Ari to leave Arthur and Eames behind, which they were going to have to do if the two didn’t arrive very soon.

 _Just in the nick of time, mates_ he thought as Arthur and Eames finally arrived.

He quickly explained to Ari, “The plan is to wait until the building blows up and then run across this roof to the next building over while the snipers on the other roofs are, we hope, sufficiently distracted by the explosion to avoid killing us all.”

She opened her mouth to question the plan, a look of horror on her face, but was given no chance when Arthur pulled her forward through the door as he and Eames barrelled through the door and out onto the rooftop at top speed.

Q was right behind them, pulling a still reluctant Ari along with him once Arthur let go.

 _Ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six…ready…jump…go!_ The gap wasn’t large, only about seven feet across, with an old alley below.

As he and Ari leaped into space hand in hand, Q laughed. They’d made it!

Then the shock wave from the explosion propelled them an extra few feet and they skidded past the corner of the roof of the next building and nearly fell off the edge on the other side.

Hands hurriedly reached out to grab them and pull them securely onto the roof. As he and Ari were rolled over to safety, Q’s training kicked in and he shouted, “Snipers at eleven o’clock and three o’clock!”

Arthur efficiently let go of their limbs, pulled out his gun, and shot at the sniper located at eleven o’clock. It wasn’t a kill shot, proving Arthur was human after all, but judging by the amount of blood coming from his shoulder the sniper wouldn’t be shooting at them any time soon. Next Arthur moved to shoot the sniper at three o’clock, only to discover that he’d packed up his scope and sniper kit and was moving toward the fire escape ladder at a rapid clip.

Frowning, Arthur holstered his gun. Q knew from years of teamwork that Arthur trusted them to alert him if there were any additional shooters.

Slowly, breathing carefully in through his nose and out through his mouth, Q ratcheted down his adrenaline. Eight armed men, an exploding bomb, a sprint across a rooftop, and two sets of snipers: he suddenly felt more like a Double-O agent than he really preferred these days.

As his heart stopped racing and his ears stopped ringing, his aches and pains began to make themselves heard. Miraculously no one in the group was shot but they had all been injured.

Q’s injuries were the worst, and Ari scolded him while trying to clean up the shredded, bloody, ravaged skin on his legs that had resulted from their skid on the roof. He sat there quietly and devoutly hoped she continued to ignore his upper body. The ribs were probably only cracked, but in her current mood Ari would grumble angrily about the injuries. It was how she coped with her fear of losing them.

After watching Q sit through a few minutes of Ari’s scolding, Eames deliberately wandered over and caught her eye. He walked Ari to where Arthur was sitting and let Arthur surreptitiously check on her while she got settled in to look over Eames.

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief as Ari’s attention shifted to Eames’ injuries, Q looked down at his legs and blanched. The multiple missing layers of skin did look kind of painful…and his leg was making _noises_.

Somewhat bemused by this—he was pretty sure he wasn’t in enough pain to be hallucinating yet—Q frowned for a moment before remembering his mobile. Evidently he’d not hung up on Miss Moneypenny after all when he’d shoved his phone into his pocket at the pub. The conversation with her seemed like it had taken place half a week past but it had really only been ten minutes ago, all told. Still, those ten minutes revealed a rather large amount of his past that Q would have preferred to keep secret from MI6. Pity his mobile hadn’t been destroyed in their fall onto the roof. Or earlier.

Steeling himself, Q very carefully reached into his pocket and reached for his phone. Instantly Moneypenny’s voice came into hearing range.

“Q! Q! Where are you? What’s going on?” He murmured something innocuous to let her know he was on the line, and her tone got more frantic. “We heard gunshots, then an explosion, and so help me we already sent Bond out after you and between the two of you you’ll probably destroy London—”

Remorselessly, Q interrupted her. “Moneypenny! Deep breath, would you? I’m on the roof of a building next to the building that, yes, did explode. Given the number of bullets and dead bodies lying around, the Met should be here shortly with the blue berets at the fore. How close is Bond?”

Moneypenny’s training kicked in and her voice frosted over, “He’ll be there momentarily. You’ll want to get off the roof; by the time you’ll have reached the street he should have arrived.”

“Excellent. I’ll call back when Bond arrives. Ta,” Q said briskly.

Ignoring Moneypenny’s spluttered attempts to get him to stay on the line, Q hung up. Then he pushed the ‘end’ button again, and then once more for good measure. After assuring himself that this time the conversation was truly over (and wouldn’t Moneypenny be fun to deal with when next they met), he put the mobile back in his pocket and looked for the others.

They were looking right back at him. And after all his experience with other people’s hostile projections in dreams, Q found being stared at to be unutterably creepy.

He quickly got to his feet and said, “We’re to go down to the street where an MI6 agent will arrive shortly. Before the Met, one hopes. You lot might want to skive off but I’ll need to stay.”

Eames exchanged a sharp look with Arthur, who nodded wordless agreement. He replied easily, “I think we’ll be sticking with you a while yet, Jamie. Easier access to better guns at MI6, after all.”

Q nodded in return. He didn’t believe a word Eames was saying but they didn’t have time to debate it now. The Met would be arriving shortly.

Ariadne was already at the rooftop door, waving him over to unlock it. Getting up was agonising. He was going to be quite unable to move once he sat down again. Q thought sarcastically, _Scarper lads, the rozzers are coming!_ and moved painfully to the door. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to MI6, still partially pissed and entirely unready for all of the questions they were sure to want answers to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: You should definitely read [this fantastic Cracked article](http://www.cracked.com/article_18862_6-deadly-injuries-you-think-youd-survive-thanks-to-movies.html), which takes apart classic action movie clichés (including several of the ones I use here—but verisimilitude is highly overrated in the Bond universe), if you haven't already. 
> 
> NB2: Q’s alcohol wouldn’t actually metabolize that quickly from adrenaline but the portrayal here is very much in keeping with Fleming’s Bond. See [the BMJ’s Dec 2013 takedown](http://www.bmj.com/content/347/bmj.f7255) of Bond and alcohol: “Such behaviour is typical of Bond. Despite his alcohol consumption, he is still described as being able to carry out highly complicated tasks and function at an extraordinarily high level. This is likely to be pure fiction.”


	2. The Sea Doesn't Know My Name

_He wasn’t looking forward to returning to MI6, still partially pissed and entirely unready for all of the questions they were sure to want answers to._

Just before the Met descended on the scene, Bond roared up in his latest and fastest Aston Martin and the four waiting at the kerb piled gracelessly and speedily into a coupe intended for no more than two.

Q elected to sit next to Bond, as he knew that all concerned would prefer to have his neck closest to Bond’s gun. The other three got in the backseat, Ariadne shoving Eames into the car’s tiny center seat.

“Shortest gets the middle, Ariadne. Shortest always gets the bloody middle. And here I am, tallest in the group, and you shove me in the middle? Arthur darling, tell her she needs to let me have the other seat,” Eames protested.

Q and Ariadne sniggered (Q immediately clutching his ribs in regret) as Arthur looked at Eames with one eyebrow raised and an expression of contempt on his face.

“Do I look like I care what seat you’re in, Eames? Sit down, shut up, and get on with it. Jamie is injured and we just got out of a fucking burning building and you want to complain about sitting in the middle seat? Christ.”

Eames gave his best faked indignant expression at this, and the group cracked up as they burned off their adrenaline through their usual joking and teasing, which had been in no way impeded by time and distance.

Unexpectedly, Bond chose this moment to interrupt their banter. "Who is Jamie and what is the extent of his injuries?" he asked in a professional tone. Bond was in full mission mode, complete with granite face and lack of small talk.

_Startling to be treated as the target of information rather than the colleague helping on the sidelines_ , Q mused.

Ariadne jumped in before Q had a chance to change gears and said, "Jamie's sitting right next to you. He lost most of the skin on his legs, and he is hiding another injury he won't tell me about, so probably nothing fatal but he does require medical attention."

With the weight of Bond's eyes resting critically on him, Q blurted out that he was fine and in any case he really needed to be calling Moneypenny to let her know they were on their way. The skeptical eyebrow he received in return was clearly disapproving but Bond said nothing further.

Q immediately phoned Moneypenny to let her know Bond had arrived and that they were on their way. After a brief discussion, it was decided that she would meet the group at the front entrance to MI6 and escort them through.

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence. By the time Q and his comrades were deposited at the main entrance to MI6, they were quite happy to see Moneypenny waiting impatiently for them there.

She hustled them briskly through the security line inside, blinking slightly at the multiple pass-throughs Arthur had to make before the guards were satisfied they caught everything, and marched them into a lift going up to Medical.

As expected, the staff who examined Arthur and Eames found that they had ended up with minimal injuries, and both refused treatment. Ari merited bandages and antibiotic ointment for her more serious abrasions and bruises. It was Q, though, about whom the doctors were least happy.

He was finally diagnosed with second and third degree abrasions on both his legs and several fractured ribs. Once he had been treated, Moneypenny quietly explained that he was needed upstairs so couldn't stay. The doctor in charge tightened her lips but nodded.

Before they could leave, a technician needed to swab Q’s hands for gunshot residue and perform a Breathalyser reading. Policy required it for all MI6 employees (Double-OOs excepted, naturally) after the firing of a gun in the field. The results were logged and the group finally left Medical.

As they were walking to the lift, Q stopped Moneypenny. He quietly pointed out that, thanks to the explosion, the group rather needed a quick shower and change of clothes and surely another quarter-hour wouldn’t make a difference at this stage. She frowned but reluctantly agreed. They walked to the men's locker room, closer and bigger than the women's, and Moneypenny stood guard while the other four walked in.

Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames immediately piled into the showers. Q and his many bandages looked on, enviously. He gave himself a quick wash in the sink and then rummaged in his locker for contact lenses and spare clothes. He hated wearing contacts but his glasses had taken some damage in the rooftop rollover and he had already been wearing his spare pair after a mishap earlier in the week. At least the clothes were in good shape.

The others were not so lucky: they ended up in spare MI6 tracksuits. Arthur griped quietly at having to wear clothing costing less than a month’s rent on Q’s flat while Eames failed to cheer him up by pointing out that for once at least they weren't clashing.

Moneypenny was waiting as they left the locker room and escorted them back to the lift. They walked off at the executive floor toward a small conference room. Through the open door, Q saw the room already contained Bond and M.

Tanner followed them into the room with a pile of folders in his hand, closed the door behind him, and quietly sat down at the end of the table by Bond.

After everyone had settled him- or herself, Tanner opened the top folder from his pile and cleared his throat. Mallory looked startled for a moment and then nodded his approval for Tanner to continue.

Tanner started with the first folder. “Eames, Daniel W. Captain, 22 Special Air Service Regiment of the Regular Army, A Squadron. Served a tour of duty in Afghanistan before being transferred to Project Somnacin in 2004. Dismissed with disgrace in 2005 after committing theft of military secrets. Pursued by members of SAS and MI6 until vanished completely in late 2005. Authorisation for elimination withdrawn 5th July 2006, by order of the head of MI6. Current whereabouts unknown.” The folder was placed gently on the table.

Tanner took a breath, picked up the next folder, and continued, “Levine, Arthur S. Sergeant, 3rd Special Forces Group, 1st Special Forces Regiment, United States Army. Served a brief tour of duty in Afghanistan before being transferred to Project Somnacin in 2004. Dishonourably discharged in 2005 after committing theft of military secrets. Pursued by Special Forces and US overseas intelligence agencies until vanished completely in late 2005. Authorisation for elimination withdrawn 7th July 2006, by request of the head of MI6. Current whereabouts unknown.” This folder was also gently placed on the table in front of him.

He took one more quiet breath and opened the last folder. “Special note on Project Somnacin joint operations, 5th October 2004. Joint operations commenced September 2004 on recommendation of task force headed by British civilian Jamie Davies-White, member of Project Somnacin March 2004-September 2004. Davies-White released from the project on 21st September 2004 at his own request. Addendum, 6th July 2006: authorisation for Davies-White elimination withdrawn 5th July 2006, by order of the head of MI6.” With that, Tanner placed the third folder on top of the other two and looked up.

“What happened on the 4th of July 2006?” Ariadne asked before anyone else could.

Eames grinned. “Jamie here met M.”

At his words, the rest of the room turned to stare at Q.

Q responded tartly, “The tale could be told this way as well: Eames ran around half of Egypt proclaiming himself MI6 to anyone who would listen because _it seemed neater_ —”

Eames interrupted smoothly, “—would you have preferred that I had apologized to the nice agents for deceiving them and waited patiently for your rescue, Jamie? As I recall, when I caught up with you you were kneeling blindfolded on the ground in front of a video camera on a tripod and a bunch of blokes holding pistols. The only hitch was that some young corker couldn’t remember the password to their YouTube channel. Thirty seconds away from death and I’m never going to hear the end of ‘borrowing’ MI6’s name to get you out.”

Q snorted. “You didn’t get me out; MI6 did. Which means that I woke up at Selly Oak with a fractured leg and M at the end of my hospital bed, demanding to know who the hell I was and just what I thought I was doing using MI6 to get out of dangerous situations that I had damn well put myself into and which I could get myself out of next time. So forgive me if I get a little twitchy at people claiming on my behalf to be MI6 agents. M may have only spent twenty minutes telling you off for that one but she had me sweating for over an hour."

He waited a beat but, other than throwing him a vaguely apologetic look, Eames wisely said nothing. Q indignantly continued, “Right. I didn’t think so.”

Bond’s smirk was easily visible.

Mallory looked unhappy. “While I’m sure that rehashing your introduction to this agency is _quite_ relevant to the matter at hand, perhaps for a moment we could focus on why I have three dead civilians and eight dead alleged terrorists in a London pub and my quartermaster in the middle of it all? I expect that behaviour from Bond, not you, Q.”

Q grimaced at this. “Actually sir, if I may?” He waited for the nod before continuing. “I believe that Project Somnacin, or at least dreamshare, is connected to this incident. It would appear that Tanner believes so as well, given that he went to the trouble of digging up old files. There are damn few other reasons to pursue the four of us with that much violence. Arthur, you were the one who wanted to meet at that pub. What caught your eye?”

“Recently, someone has been trying to send a message by targeting point men both retired and active who were trained by the US military in Project Somnacin. You and I are the only two left, Jamie. The others have all been executed in the style known as the blood eagle,” Arthur said.

Q experienced the curious sensation of feeling his face lose colour while he watched Ariadne’s face do the same. Out the corner of his eye he saw Bond perk up. E _xotic forms of torture are no doubt far more interesting to Bond than decade-old military secrets_.

Eames said between clenched teeth, “Arthur darling, what have we said about keeping the rest of us out of the loop when we’re in danger? You know how Jamie dislikes being caught out unawares and for that matter Ariadne and I aren’t fans either.”

Q nodded vigorously in agreement to that and saw Ariadne do the same.

He added quietly, "Had I known, I would not have been caught in a pub filled with civilians and an MI6 issued gun in my hand for dreamshare business. Bad form, Arthur."

“Can we set that aside for the moment?” Arthur replied defensively. “I believe the current threat has to do with Prague,” he added.

Right on cue, Ariadne’s mobile chimed. Incoming text. When she pulled it out and unlocked the text, she swore viciously and called out, “Jamie!”

Q was on his feet, gun close to hand, before he’d fully processed her request. He spared a moment to look at the number of people in the room—more than four of them—who’d immediately reached for their own gun in response to his actions and then focused back on Ariadne’s mobile. He gently reached out and pulled it out of her hand to take a look.

The text was a video, and the still frame previewed was enough to show him what he was looking at. He stiffened his back (and promptly relaxed it, regretting the ribs) and took a long and shallow breath (more mindful of the ribs).

“Ari, if you don’t mind, I’m going to put this up on the projection display. We have no idea why someone sent this to you and best guess is that it’s somehow connected to the incident at the pub. We need to know what the other people in the clip were saying and doing. I don’t know about you, but I don’t remember a great deal from this part,” Q said calmly.

“You really should have a better memory of what was happening around you while you were being waterboarded. High expectations there, Jamie,” Ariadne responded acerbically.

“Actually I was trained to do exactly that. SERE—military torture resistance. Nonetheless, this happened five years ago and my memory isn’t exact. So, if you would, the bigger screen?”

Once they’d gotten the message from Ariadne’s phone to the secured presentation laptop—Q was rather more careful these days about introducing unknown materials into the MI6 computing environment—he loaded the video player and started the video. It felt strange to be back in the role of MI6 head computer geek ( _boffin_ , his brain reminded him) for a moment.

_“Tell us about Vesper.”_

_“Person…place…or time?” Q-who-was-Jamie replied raggedly, gasping for breath._

_The witticism was not appreciated._

_The men holding him down onto the inclined board took a moment to slap him around before the one in charge reached for a PASIV and a line. At the sight of the PASIV, Jamie suddenly exploded into motion and his headbutt broke the nose of one of the men holding him down while his flailing hands severely scratched the arm of the other. They yelled angrily in surprise and only the leader’s cold warning prevented them from inflicting severe injuries. The video froze on the last frame, a shot of Jamie’s face frozen in terror as he watched the IV line get taped down to his wrist._

When the video stopped abruptly, Q broke the silence by reaching into his pocket and drawing out a tenner that he slid over to Ariadne. “You win, by the way. Vesper was a person.”

The appalled look on Moneypenny’s face was almost worth the distress on Bond’s that he couldn’t quite hide in time. She hissed, “Q, you can’t bet on other people’s…” and trailed off with a significant look at Bond.

“On the contrary. I didn’t know Vesper Lynd in 2008 so I protected her secrets unwittingly. Today I know who she was and what she did and I’m not going to pretend she’s an innocent in all of this. That bet helped keep my sanity through multiple days of torture.”

“What happened back then? How did you get captured?” Arthur asked neutrally.

Q took a breath. The memory was still unpleasant after all these years. He had a moment’s remorse for so cavalierly bringing up bad memories for Bond before he resolutely pushed the guilt away.

He began, “We finished a job in Salzburg toward the end of summer 2008. Simple in and out, some banker wanted to know who was merging with whom and when. The usual. There were four of us: Ariadne as architect, Lotte for chemist, Jorge as extractor, and me on point. Lotte happened to mention at the end of the job that she'd never had a Pilsner before. When we finished, we split up and met again a week later at Jorge’s favorite pub in Prague in order to celebrate easy payment for an easy job. We all had a few glasses but no one got drunk.

As we were leaving the pub, five men came up to the group and shot Lotte and Jorge point blank. We didn’t even get the chance to return fire before they knocked Ariadne and me out. When we woke up, it was three days of conventional torture before they brought out the PASIV and sent us down. They told us the dose before they pushed the plunger. They used a double layer dream, with a sedative, four hours on the clock topside.”

Eames frowned. “That’s almost a month on the second level. And with sedation you couldn’t kick out without heading into Limbo. That kind of Somnacin doesn’t come cheap, not to mention the rest of it. What did they bloody want?”

At this, Ariadne spoke up. "The only thing we could think of was that it was connected to the Salzburg job but none of it ever made any sense. That job went off well and so far as we know, it was too minor to provoke this. From what I remember of the torture, they asked about Vesper quite a bit, they asked about Yusuf, and they asked about other things that are mostly a blur.”

Q’s head snapped up as he realized what Ariadne had just said. “No, they didn’t ask about Yusuf. They asked about _Yusef_. Not our favourite Somnacin provider, but rather Vesper’s lover. But that still doesn’t help: none of it was ever clear—not why, not who, not even how.”

Arthur looked gravely at him. “I can't tell you why, but I can tell you who. The people torturing you in the video were members of the organization known as Quantum of Solace. They asked about Vesper Lynd because they thought you had something that she hid from them five years ago. And it would appear they’re looking for it now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I moved the timeline for Casino Royale up two years (which would have it around 2008) and the timeline for Inception back three years or so (to 2007), and real life is roughly eighteen months behind where it actually is (making ‘present day’ sometime in early 2013). If you have ever tried to untangle the cluster that is the rebooted Bond timeline, you have my _sincere_ sympathies.


	3. But My Heart is Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the villains reveal their dastardly plan and the team begins to assemble

_“I can't tell you why, but I can tell you who. The people torturing you in the video were members of the organization known as Quantum of Solace. They asked about Vesper Lynd because they thought you had something that she hid from them five years ago. And it would appear they’re looking for it now.”_

“I have so many questions. What is Quantum of Solace? Why did they go after point men rather than Jamie specifically? And just what happened in Addis Ababa anyway?” Ariadne asked in confusion.

Tanner started to explain, “The organization known as Quantum of Solace was destroyed for the most part in 2008 and 2009 but remnants clearly still exist. Quantum, as they were typically known, were responsible for mayhem around the globe, including an attempt to rig the prices of water in Bolivia—”

And Q responded almost simultaneously, “—Addis Ababa was due to Eames' poker game. And it would have been fine, really, except for the local al-Qaeda branch becoming...fuck. Poker game.”

Abruptly Q asked, “Eames, where was that casino with the obscenely high-stakes poker game? The Sayers job?”

“Not Monaco. Not Malta. Macedonia?” Ariadne offered. She’d been on that job as well.

“Or Montenegro?” came the blunt question from Bond. His face was stone and it was impossible to tell his opinion of the matter.

“The Sayers job was in Montenegro, yes. Is that where this all started, Jamie?” came Eames’ response. He was clearly concerned (as Eames always was when Arthur was in danger) but, like the gifted forger he was, he had started to put the plot together.

“Possibly. I’m pulling up the footage now. It will be a minute or two while I match Vesper Lynd’s photo from the files to the camera footage that we have available from Montenegro."

When the match came, it was shocking but not for the reasons he’d expected.

He carefully isolated only the relevant portions of the video—wouldn’t do to provide MI6 with _evidence_ of his previous criminal career—and put it up on the screen.

_A man, barely visible in the dim light, sat at a bar with a half-empty glass in front of him. His elegant dinner suit and bored demeanour fit in neatly with the other patrons of the luxuriously appointed casino bar. He tapped a finger impatiently on the rim of his glass and snuck a glance at his mobile._

_At that moment, Vesper Lynd walked in and moved with focus and determination toward the man seated at the bar._

_When she reached him, she interrupted his thoughts and asked a question._

_The man, startled, turned around and flashed a large smile at the woman. It faded almost immediately as he seemed to realise that she was not the person he thought. Nonetheless the smile seemed to assure the woman, who asked one final question and listened intently to the answer._

_The man’s answer was abrupt and he turned back to the bar with impatience visible on his face. His mobile buzzed and he looked toward the entrance of the bar. He got up and began to move to the entrance, pausing a moment to place his glass on the bar. As he paused, the woman beside him took the chance and slipped something small into his jacket pocket. She immediately got up and walked briskly toward the exit. She did not linger nor look behind her as she walked out of frame._

_The man did not appear to have noticed her quick sleight-of-hand as he continued to make his way to the front of the bar. At the entrance he nodded a greeting to a woman there. Her slinky silver dress and elegant updo blended in with the rest of the casino and the well-matched couple garnered nary a blink as they too walked out of frame._

All four dreamsharers in the room had gasped at Vesper’s appearance on the screen. When the video ended, the four exchanged a long look with each other.

“You thought she was Mal, Jamie?” came the direct question from Arthur. He looked preoccupied, as Arthur often did when he was in the midst of sorting out a crisis, but the question proved his attention was keen.

Q grimaced and nodded. It was nothing less than the truth. For a moment, in the trick of the low light, under the influence of wishful thinking, yes. He’d thought she was Mal.

He added, "That does explain why I don’t remember her. I vaguely remember meeting someone who looked like Mal in the middle of working a job. Other details quickly became more important."

Ariadne said thoughtfully, "I didn't even see her walk by me. And we both appear to have missed her placing that object in your pocket. Wonder where that jacket is now?"

“Oh, I know exactly where it is. My lovely little flat in Odessa. You remember, the one whose location I was convinced wouldn’t be a problem because we’d already had the Crimean War once and wasn’t that enough for anyone?” Q responded sourly.

After a moment, M seized the opportunity to query, “Is this Mal the person who Quantum is looking for now? Instead of Miss Lynd I mean?”

Q laughed harshly. “If so, they’ll have the same luck. And for the same reason. Mal Cobb is dead. She’s been dead since she jumped off the 17th floor of the Century Plaza Towers on the night of her anniversary in 2006.”

Tanner had an inquiring and somewhat concerned look on his face but before he could get his question out, Arthur’s mobile trilled.

Arthur looked at the caller identification and frowned but picked up.

He listened to the person on the other hand for perhaps a minute before the others could clearly hear him respond in a measured and dangerously angry tone, "I understand. What do you want from us?" Another moment of listening and then, "Very well. You'll hear from me soon," and he hung up.

He took a moment to regain his calm before looking to the dreamshare members of the room. “Dom appears to be dead. Quantum has James and Phillipa. We need to sort out what our next steps are going to be,” he said quietly.

Q felt as though he’d been punched in the face. Dom Cobb, dead? He’d been part of dreamshare for almost a decade now, having taken a break post-inception but cautiously getting back into legal jobs a couple of years ago. It was nearly impossible to imagine him dead.

James and Phillipa in the hands of Quantum didn't even bear thinking about.

Eames immediately questioned, "What are they demanding, darling, and how long have we got?"

It wasn't like either Eames or Arthur to talk about their plans in front of strangers but neither had been exercising that caution in front of the members of MI6. Q had been attributing it, somewhat confusedly, to behaviours established during Project Somnacin. That, and perhaps Eames at least had some lingering affection for MI6 due to his mother.

Arthur said grimly, "They want Jamie, they want whatever item Vesper Lynd gave Jamie, and they want me. On a deadline, naturally. We need to get going."

Before they could move to get up, M interrupted. "I understand that these people have abducted children, but I can't let the MI6 quartermaster walk out the door unprotected and to certain death. I'm not going to convince you, Q, to stay behind. I can read your face on the matter from here, so let's not waste time. We need to get certain procedures up and running and I'm going to insist that Bond go along as protection. Give us an hour and then you can be on your way."

At this, Moneypenny spoke up. "Sir? I'd like to join them as well. The quartermaster could use an extra bodyguard and, given Quantum's involvement, it makes sense to have another member of MI6 on hand as well."

The dreamsharers collectively frowned and questioning looks went around the table.

Q stepped up to respond, somewhat tetchily, "The last thing we need is tourists on hand when we rescue James and Phillipa from Quantum."

Bond, who up till then had been quiet, said pointedly, "You're counting field agents as ah, tourists? Moneypenny and I have far more experience than you, Q, no matter the government program that you were involved in. The job of tying up the loose ends of the Quantum organization was mine. I'll be there no matter your desire."

"What a surprise. James Bond, legendary lover, unable to look past his own desires to satisfy others,” Q responded heatedly.

Bond raised an eyebrow at that and said easily, “Why Q, I had no idea your desires here were related to _sex_. I am, of course, desolate that I cannot service you—”

Before Bond could continue, M interrupted once more.

"Enough flirting. Q, Moneypenny and Bond will join your team on this to ensure that MI6 goals are reached. Those goals include your protection. Mr. Levine, Mr. Eames, and Miss, err, Ariadne, please feel free to remain in this room while we sort out a few details. Tanner, if you would stay with them?"

Tanner nodded and the rest of the room moved to comply as well. M's logic was sound and the deadline loomed. Besides, it wasn't as though this would be the first time that tourists had joined a tricky dreamshare job.

###

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the Century Plaza Towers don’t have hotel space. But there are relatively few skyscrapers with hotels in downtown Los Angeles, much less ones with side-by-side buildings for his and her hotel rooms, so I went for ‘good enough.’ Love you, LA!
> 
> Also: This was something of a filler chapter _but_ I am very excited for next chapter. There will be a scene where Q gets fatally injured in a dream and Bond loses his shit. In a not-platonic kind of way. Moneypenny and Ariadne will be delighted when they find out. Possibly also in a not-platonic kind of way, I'm not sure yet. 
> 
> Next chapter is also _already written_ so expect a quick update.


	4. If you can't get what you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond has an emotion, Q is confused, and our plot moves forward

_M's logic was sound and the deadline loomed. Besides, it wasn't as though this would be the first time that tourists had joined a tricky Dreamshare job._

The motley team of Dreamsharers and MI6 agents took two cars as they exited MI6.  Q and Arthur rode in Bond's Aston Martin while Ariadne, Eames and Moneypenny rode in one of Q-Branch's modified Renaults. Moneypenny drove the Renault, much to Bond's vocal disapproval and Ariadne's equally vocal delight.

Their destination was a flat in Stoke Newingtonthat Q, Arthur, and Eames had purchased years ago to serve as a combined safe house and armoury.  Once they'd retrieved what they needed, the team would need to move quickly to meet Quantum's deadline.

In Bond's car, plans were drawn up and just as quickly knocked down again.

Arthur revealed that Quantum had given them 48 hours to retrieve the item that Vesper had given Q and then make their way to a specified building in Apapa Port, Lagos. It would, due to unrest near both Odessa and Lagos, be a very tight deadline.

The consequences were clear: if the team ran late, Quantum would kill Phillipa and James much as they had killed Dom. Or as they had _claimed_ to kill. Arthur had sent out a request for confirmation on that last but hadn't yet heard back from his contacts.

The team needed weapons for the Dreamsharers, clean mobiles, extra Somnacin, a spare PASIV, painkillers and wound dressings for Q and Ariadne, and a plane for their trips to Odessa and Lagos.  They also needed to train Bond and Moneypenny in shared dreams. The training would by necessity be brief but (thanks to the power of Somnacin's time dilation) both agents would be able to get up to basic level at least.

Q was concerned about training Bond and, to a lesser extent, Moneypenny.  Both agents were well trained in topside survival skills, which Q knew from his time on Project Somnacin could prove problematic in learning the distinct skills needed for Dreamshare.  

It was keenly important that both MI6 field agents remain focused on survival topside while being able to kill themselves quickly in the dream if the situation required it.  To appropriately decide between these differing requirements (survival at all costs topside versus dying in the dream to wake up), they would need totems and rudimentary forging training in addition to the basic orientation to dreaming.

Arthur was still trying to figure out how the timetable would work.  "We need at least five hours real-time to train the two tourists.  Getting to Odessa from London is going to take four hours and we need to plan for at least three hours in the city in case we run into trouble.  We need roughly twelve hours to fly from Odessa to Lagos if we acquire one of the larger Embraers.  More if we don't. That's 24 hours at best. We need to track what's going on with Quantum and determine what their network looks like and what we can expect to be facing in Nigeria—"

"—understood.  We've got a tight time frame. Let's work on securing the Embraer so we can confirm the flight times and work our schedule around that. We can pick up weapons at the flat and have additional ones waiting for us in Odessa.  Lagos, too, if we need them.  We should plan to train the tourists while in flight. Eames can still pilot a small jet, right?" Q responded.

He could _see_ Bond frown next to him.  Q said tartly, "He's former SAS.  Even you have to acknowledge that SAS squaddies know how to fly. Besides, we need both you and Moneypenny on the PASIV for training. And while Arthur could pilot the plane, he's a better trainer than Eames.  So suck it up, buttercup."

Bond bantered back, "But Q, if I'm 'sucking it up,' won't I be too busy to train? And I feel sure that MI6 regulations frown on executives fraternizing with field agents. That's of course not mentioning your public sex kink."

Q valiantly fought a blush and said, sputtering a bit, "I can't believe I'm listening to James Bond quote MI6 regulations.  The same man who once blithely informed his superiors that he hadn't bothered to read the regulations and in any case was going to break them anyway."

Arthur looked at the two of them and raised an eyebrow. "I'm beginning to see what M meant earlier.  Eames does indeed have full qualifications to pilot a small jet and should be relatively well rested. I'll need to pilot from Odessa to Lagos but Eames was going to try forging with the MI6 agents anyway so that works out neatly."

"Unlike nearly everything _else_ about this plan.  We have no idea what we're going to see on the ground in Odessa and I cannot guarantee that my dinner jacket, let alone the mysterious object, is there," Q said with a sigh.

Here Bond spoke up in a more serious tone. "Why Odessa, Q? And for that matter, how did you manage to get out of Prague? You never finished telling us that story."

Q grimaced. His ribs ached, his head ached, his legs burned, and thanks to the lifelong effects of Somnacin, his meagre painkiller from MI6 had long since worn off.  He in no way wanted to discuss Prague with Bond, or for that matter Arthur.

With a shallow sigh, he gave in.  "Prague can be concisely summarized as torture, Limbo, awakening, and a bloodbath. Their blood, not ours.  The slightly longer version includes the fact that they eventually got bored experimenting with conventional torture in the dream and used the mythical Norse Blood Eagle technique on me while Ariadne was forced to watch.  They accidentally let it go too far such that I dropped into Limbo.  Yes, Bond, I am aware that you have no idea what Limbo is. I made my way out again, many years older mentally if not physically, and woke Ariadne up as well. We shot and killed everyone but the leader. The leader we killed using the Blood Eagle style. It wasn't subtle and we undoubtedly made waves in Prague, so we left in a hurry and my flat in Odessa was the safest bolthole either of us had.  So there you have it."

Arthur's jaw had dropped open slightly during this explanation. Pleased to have generated such a strong response from one of the most composed men he'd ever met in his life, Q gave a light chuckle and said, "Arthur, you'll catch flies.  Which is it, the Blood Eagle or Limbo?"

Decidedly, Arthur responded with, "Limbo. Mythical torture techniques, sure, whatever, but I've never heard of anyone pulling themselves out of Limbo. If you'd asked, I would have said it couldn't be done."

Bond broke in with a slightly impatient look, "What is Limbo and what makes Q's achievement so extraordinary?"

Calmly, Q responded, "There's a lot of Dreamshare vocabulary which the community has invented over the years and which we will go over in detail once we hook you up to the PASIV and time is in our favour.  For now, I'll briefly explain that Limbo is unconstructed dreamspace wherein the dreamer perceives time passing exceptionally slowly while topside time passes quite speedily.  It is possible to perceive yourself as having grown old and grey in Limbo while topside, in the real world, mere minutes have passed.  The danger comes when the dreamer fails to remember the dream and starts to live their life in Limbo.  Usually another person is required to retrieve the dreamer.  There have been dreamers in Limbo who have dropped into vegetative comas and never woken up."

Bond grimaced. His job required him to be comfortable with the thought of dying at any time, but a vegetative coma was something else.  Q suddenly looked forward even _less_ to training the man in Dreamshare.

Luckily for Q, they had reached the flat and there was no more time for conversation. Bond parked and they walked up the stairs. Moneypenny's driving was as speedy as ever, though Bond noted acerbically that the Renault appeared to have both mirrors intact for a change, and the others were already waiting for them.

The team swept into the flat to retrieve supplies for Q and Ariadne's injuries and acquire the other supplies necessary for their trip. The specialised silver wound dressings they kept proved helpful for Q's leg injuries, the bandages allowing him much more freedom of movement and reduced pain, and the enzybiotic that they'd obtained from MI6 would help both Q and Ariadne heal far more quickly than usual.  The only problem was Q's ribs. Time was the best healer for them but time was exactly what they didn't have.  He'd had to have Eames help him wrap his ribs (against all medical advice) for greater mobility.

Once they had picked up everything they needed and piled it at the front door, Q and Arthur sat down to procure them a plane. Two discreet phone calls later, the team was equipped and on its way to Luton.

They quickly loaded their equipment onto the jet they’d acquired and settled in.  Eames received clearance and smoothly took off with a flight path that had them _officially_ heading on a holiday to Split. Their exact flight details would be carefully entered by Q and Arthur when they got closer to their actual destination.  They needed to walk a dangerous line between a faked manifest good enough to confuse Quantum and a faked manifest good enough to confuse air traffic control and other airplanes.

After the plane levelled off, Q and Ariadne worked to get everything set up with the PASIV while Arthur ran the necessary blood tests and started the basic explanation for Moneypenny and Bond.  

Arthur spoke quickly and the two tourists were soon ready.  Q and Arthur grabbed their lines and gestured for Bond and Moneypenny to do the same. Ariadne would remain topside for safety's sake.

Neither Bond nor Moneypenny had been particularly keen on the physical vulnerability of their bodies while under.  It was only after Q had forcefully pointed out that they'd volunteered and that this was part of the job that they'd acquiesced.  

Ariadne had cheerfully reminded them, with a broad wink in Moneypenny's direction, that she'd be watching over their prone bodies with all diligence. Q and Bond had exchanged raised eyebrows at that development and then shrugged.

Once under, Arthur quickly ran down the basics he hadn't already covered: multi-level time dilation, sub security, shooting to awaken oneself, the details of multiple level dreams, and of course Limbo. His brevity was well rehearsed. Arthur had been training newcomers to Dreamshare since he'd been an early member of Project Somnacin years before. Even pioneers like Dom and Mal had been trained by him.

Arthur had also volunteered to serve as dreamer, knowing that his subconscious was well-controlled after so many years of training.  

The dreamers would need to move into Bond and Moneypenny's minds at some point in order to establish basic militarization and test it. The agents' secrets needed to remain secret even while dreaming. There was too much critical intelligence in their brains to leave that to chance.  

For the basic overview, however, Arthur's mind would suffice.

They entered the basic city dreamspace that Arthur preferred when training others. He then invited Moneypenny and Bond to test the limits of the dream.

Bond, struggling with the contrast between the dream and his field agent training, worked to create a facsimile of the gun Q had once crafted for him.  He made it as far as creating a hunk of metal in roughly the correct size and shape but struggled from there.

Moneypenny, on the other hand, was enchanted by the way that dreams allowed her to create increasingly exotic weapons from thin air. The weapons had Arthur's projections stirring uneasily. They could tolerate a constantly changing dreamspace and intruders in Arthur's subconscious, but unpredictable armed intruders were a concern.

The tessen was the last straw. Almost imperceptibly, the projections moved from restive to lethal.  Moneypenny was the first in the line of fire. A projection quickly shot her dead, brains splashed red against the street corner.  

Q watched Bond in concern. If the man were going to revert to training and forget that this was a dream, he'd do so now. As feared, Bond moved to cover Q.  

Q started, "Bond, this is a dream.  If I'm shot here, then I wake up in the real world without injury. There's no need to--"

Before he could finish, a projection shot him in the gut. He'd been in Arthur's subconscious often enough that he was ordinarily perceived as somewhat benign, but the projections were riled up enough that that had been forgotten.

Q gasped in pain and fell to the ground. Dream gunshots still hurt.

"Q! Goddamnit Q, you're not a field agent and this is why. Ten minutes in the field and you're already hit. Just hold on, all right? I'm going to get you help.  I...MI6...we need our Quartermaster.  Your 'promising career' is just getting started," Bond said urgently.  His right hand moved to put pressure on the wound while he gently stroked Q's forehead with his left.

It was clear to Q, even through the haze of pain, that the man had completely lost track of the dream.  What was even more astonishing was _how_ he'd reacted. Bond wasn't reacting to a colleague's fatal injury. He was reacting to a friend or even, perhaps, a potential lover's death. His mask of professionalism had cracked significantly.

Selfishly, Q was glad that Moneypenny wasn't there to see it. She would have seen far more than Bond would likely have wanted her to, and Q wanted to savour this feeling for himself.  

Arthur could be counted on to remain discreet. At the moment, in fact, he was too busy pacifying his subconscious to say anything about Bond's reaction.  Yet.  Q wasn't looking forward to _that_ conversation, either.

With a pained yelp, Q sat up. He nearly passed out from the pain but Bond caught him in a gentle grip before he could fall back.  

Q said as soothingly as he could, "Bond, this is a dream, remember? I'm not going to die.  Or rather, I'm going to die in the dream but wake up in the real world without injury. You just have to let me go and I'll be fine."

For a moment, Bond didn't comprehend. His grip on Q tightened and he shook his head in negation.  

Arthur had discreetly moved a distance away to pretend he wasn't listening. His projections had calmed down once Moneypenny had been removed and they'd realized that no one else was armed. Now he concentrated on creating a calming dreamspace by removing the buildings and surrounding them instead with a tranquil and deserted public park.

Q meanwhile marvelled at the depth of Bond's feelings.  The man had only known him for six months. Admittedly, it had been six adrenaline-fueled months and their trust was deep after so many missions spent murmuring in each other's ear as Bond made his way through the field and Q worked as his tech support.  Bond's file gave no indication that he'd ever been interested in men, though, so regretfully Q classed Bond's feelings for him as those for a shieldbrother rather than a shieldmate.

The pain was quickly becoming too much to bear. More forcefully, Q said, "Bond! Listen to me.  Remember what we just told you. This is a dream. We won't die permanently here. Let me wake up so that I can end my pain."

Bond startled and let Q go. It was a measure of his disorientation that he had revealed his confusion so openly but he quickly regained his composure.

Q fell back against a convenient park bench and looked over to Arthur. He'd have preferred to discreetly jump off a building or wait till the timer ran out, but his pain precluded those more sanitized solutions. Arthur would have to shoot him out of the dream.

Arthur spoke up.  "Mr. Bond, if you would take a walk, I will deal with Jamie's pain. Once he's gone from the dream, I'll find you and we can continue reviewing what you need to know. Ms. Moneypenny should be returning to the dream soon as well, so you'll both want to continue. Unless you need a break?"

Bond had regained his stoic mask and shook his head at that. The lesson would go on, even if his psyche had received yet another wound to add to his tally. Q's ghost would join those of M and Vesper in Bond's nightmares as surely as if Q had actually died.

Bond stood up and walked away without looking back at them. Q battled pain on two fronts: hurt from the wound and hurt from Bond's callous exit. He mentally revised Bond's concern down to 'caring colleague' and let his more fanciful dreams wither.  Caring colleagues were still more than he'd hoped for from Bond when they'd met at the National Gallery.

Arthur met his gaze and firmly shook his head. Confused as to what message Arthur was trying to send, Q gestured to the gun. He was in too much pain to have the patience necessary to sort this tangle out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you have the first hint of Bond's feelings as well as the direction the plot is moving next. It's been terrifically fun mixing the worlds of MI6 and Dreamshare and I hope you've been enjoying the journey so far.
> 
> As I stated last chapter, I'm planning to write and publish at a more rapid pace as Spectre will be out soon and it’s already starting to upend a lot of current canon/headcanon tropes. “Make me disappear,” indeed.


End file.
